


Ineffability

by Rasalahuge



Series: Deus ex Mycroft [3]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Crowley (Good Omens) Is Not Crowley (Supernatural), Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 04:35:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5192549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rasalahuge/pseuds/Rasalahuge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a bookshop in Soho an angel and a demon learn that their newest neighbours will be God and his little brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ineffability

**Author's Note:**

> Good Omens crossover! Yay! Don't worry the next chapter of 'Chronicles of a Young God' is under way and will be posted asap. In the meantime enjoy this. Set chronologically a year or so after the Good Omens Apocalypse-that-wasn't so pre-series for both Supernatural and Sherlock.

  


**Ineffability**   
**aka Never let Mycroft Holmes play solitaire**

Tucked away on an otherwise ordinary street in Soho, London there was a bookshop. Like many other independent bookshops the windows were slightly grimy, cluttered with books of all shapes and descriptions and the opening times were severely erratic. In actual fact the owner of this particular bookshop had gotten both the clutter of the windows and the erratic opening hours down to a fine art all with one purpose expressly in mind – that is to completely avoid enticing customers.

Unfortunately for the owner, magnificent though his tactics were, that wasn’t about to stop the visitor unfurling himself from the nondescript black town car. Tall with sharp features and hair just a shade darker than mahogany the man, or rather man-shaped-being, wore an air of calm authority just as well as he wore the Saville Row pinstriped suit. He took one look at the bookshop, grey eyes unfathomable, and let out a small snort of amusement before walking right in, ignoring the ‘closed’ sign.

Inside the shop was just as cluttered only with an air of dust swirling around lazily in the light. To most people the shop would feel distinctly unwelcoming but to the man who entered the atmosphere wrapped around him with an affectionate and almost giddy touch, as if it knew what hid under the mortal shell.

“Oh dear!” The owner of the bookshop, a pale, golden haired figure with an ageless face and a distinctly dated tartan vest turned to the newcomer, “Sir I am afraid we’re closed just at the moment. If you could please…” The owner trailed off as a pair of blue eyes met those unfathomable grey ones and widened dramatically. “Oh. Oh my…” The figure said faintly.

“Sit Aziraphale,” The visitor suggested, not unkindly but certainly a little more stern than was strictly necessary. The owner, Aziraphale, abruptly sat and only because he expected it did a chair materialise under him before he hit the ground.

“What’s going on angel? I heard the door… _ssshite_ ,” A second figure, this one dark where Aziraphale was light, appeared, dressed suavely in a smooth black suit only slightly cheaper than the visitor’s with a pair of designed sunglasses. He entered the shop from the backroom and promptly froze to the spot his words trailing into a frightened hiss as he stared at the man.

“Crowley,” The visitor purred, “please join us,” He gestured to where Aziraphale was sitting. Crowley took one glance at him and moved to join the other on a chair that definitely hadn’t been there a moment ago.

The three of them stood, or sat, staring at one another for a several long moments. 

“… Isss thisss about Adam?” Crowley asked eventually, he probably would have been sweating nervously except that beings like him didn’t really sweat.

“No,” The man replied, “That small hiccup has been dealt with and the offenders punished appropriately. Metatron, upon reflection, opted to take early retirement and a not unreasonable severance package. Beelzebub was less cooperative but ultimately decided it was in his best interests not to follow in his elder brother’s footsteps _too_ closely.”

“Ooo-kay,” Crowley glanced nervously at his companion.

“How then may we serve?” Aziraphale enquired politely. The man’s thin lips quirked, just slightly.

“So you _do_ intend to continue serving?” He enquired equally politely and both figures tensed once more. “That is good to know,” He continued as if he hadn’t noticed their fear, although he definitely had, “You’ve been doing such excellent work and you did handle that little mess quite nicely.”

“I… ah… thank you?” Crowley and Aziraphale shared a concerned look, as if they didn’t really know what to say to that. They, of course, did not feel that they had exactly done themselves justice in that mess but, as it had all turned out alright in the end, liked to pretend that all the mistakes they’d made had been completely intentional. It left them less likely to wince at how the world hadn’t ended only because of their gross incompetence.

“You are quite welcome.” The man answered, his lips quirking again just slightly as if he knew exactly what they were thinking. Of course he _did_ know what they were thinking so that was a moot point. “I do not, actually, require anything from you at this time. You are to continue as you are and follow orders as they come from your respective superiors,” That their respective superiors didn’t really _order_ either Crowley or Aziraphale to do anything these days remained left unsaid although not unacknowledged.

“That’s… that’s good… right?” Crowley murmured and the man hummed.

“This is a courtesy call,” The man said, “You’ll notice a dramatic decrease in the number of supernatural events in London over the next few weeks, do not be alarmed. Given the rapid rise of global communications over the last decade I have decided to set up a rather more permanent place from which to work. Sherlock and I will be moving in within the next month or so,” If anything, at this declaration the two figures became rather _more_ alarmed than they were before. “Given your excellent work in the past I am inclined to allow the two of you to remain in London, if you so wish, so long as you abide by certain rules. I am afraid Crowley that will include adjusting that rather masterful example of sigil work you managed to incorporate into the M25, I do _hate_ being delayed by terrible traffic,”

“Naturally,” Crowley peeped looking appropriately terrified.

“Of course your equally welcome to depart to other climes if you so wish, although I do advise avoiding America for at least the next two decades. While I expect things won’t turn out quite as disastrously as they potentially could you probably don’t want to get caught up in that mess,” The man added, with apparent concern, but it came out more intimidating than reassuring.

“We understand,” Aziraphale answered.

“Excellent,” The man replied, “In that case I will leave you to discuss your options. Incidentally, should you decide to remain, I have heard excellent things about the Ritz and will be happy to welcome interesting company when I dine there,” With that the man turned and left the bookshop leaving two terrified beings behind staring at him in absolute shock.

“That… wasn’t my imagination was it?” Crowley murmured.

“No, no it wasn’t,” Aziraphale replied. The blonde haired man took a deep steadying breath and then beamed with such an expression of delight and warmth that you wouldn’t have thought that he’d spent the last ten minutes in a state of extreme terror. “Oh! Oh! Crowley dear, didn’t I _say_? Of _course_ the whole thing was a mistake, on both sides, and of course he wouldn’t want it to end like that. We were right my dear,”

“Bugger that,” Crowley snarked right back, somehow the expression of undiluted happiness on the other’s face relaxing the coil of terror in his chest. “You didn’t know _shite_ angel, you just didn’t want to be forced into watching _the Sound of Music_ for eternity. You hoped and justified like your life depended on it, because it did,”

“Yes well,” Aziraphale sniffed, “It turns out I was right to do so,” He said primly. “In case you didn’t notice our visitor just explained it to us in detail,”

“No he didn’t. He made vaguely threatening remarks about Metatron and Beelzebub and then proceeded to threaten us too,” Crowley countered, “Nice to know he hasn’t changed one jot. To think everyone wondered where Ol’ Nick got it from in the first place,”

“ _Crowley_ ,” Aziraphale admonished.

“What?” Crowley said innocently and Aziraphale glared at him through pursed lips, “So where are we moving to?”

“I’m sorry?” Aziraphale blinked.

“Where should we move to? America’s obviously out. We could stick around Britain, jump ship to Manchester or Birmingham but it’s not quite the same. I’ve heard good things about the direction the Greek economy is going in, I bet I can work with that.” Crowley said and Aziraphale hesitated visibly. “No. Oh come on angel _no_ ,” Crowley knew that look and was not above begging to avoid what came after that look.

“He’s _here_ Crowley. He’s going to be _here_ for a good deal of time from the sounds of it,” Aziraphale said quietly. “I won’t… I won’t blame you my dear. I know after all, don’t I? You sauntered vaguely downwards but you did so for a reason. If you wish to depart… well I certainly won’t stop you…” He said wringing his hands agitatedly. “There’s always the telephone of course and these new-fangled emails. We can keep in touch,”

“It won’t be the _same_ angel,” Crowley complained but with a look of heart-felt misery and conflict on his face.

“I shan’t ask you to stay,” Aziraphale said determinedly, “But I rather think I don’t want to leave either.”

“You did get the memo where he just threatened us right?” Crowley asked weakly.

“He is what he is,” Aziraphale said sternly, “There’s little point denying that. Yet for all that he is and was and will be he remains, at the end of it all, our Father.” Crowley flinched but even he couldn’t deny that, “Quite beside that if he is staying in one place then Remiel will join him and I haven’t seen her in… oh far too long. There weren’t many of us Principalities that survived you know, and she has made an attempt to keep in touch when her duties aren’t keeping her too busy,”

“One of these days I’m going to come by this bookshop and find that Trickster who’s pretending we don’t all know he’s an archangel-in-hiding drinking tea aren’t I?” Crowley said sounding far too resigned.

“I really don’t think Gabriel is the type to drink tea,” Aziraphale commented.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Crowley accused but Aziraphale beamed at him in reply.

“Now really my dear, it shan’t be that bad. After all he doesn’t like to interfere directly,” The angel beamed looking for all like he was fresh from a vacation in Heaven, letting glory and grace shine out of him.

“You do remember the part where he practically demanded we have lunch with him on a semi-regular basis if we stayed right?” the demon pouted in reply, already flinching at the idea of sitting down to lunch with… _him_.

“It will be good for you,” The angel replied primly before turning and heading back to his stacks of centuries old bibles.

“Lunch with the Almighty? Good for me? Does he even remember I’m a demon?” The demon groused but followed on for lack of anything else to do. After all if God was moving into London then there was a reasonable chance his wiles would be actually be thwarted with a reasonable degree of efficiency for once.

Not that it would stop him of course. As Aziraphale said he _had_ sauntered for a reason.

 

Tucked away on an otherwise ordinary street in Soho, London there was a bookshop. It closely resembled many other independent bookshops from the outside however on closer inspection it was anything but. Inside could be found the owner a slightly unusual angel, and his companion, a rather definitely unusual demon. It was uncommon to find two who were ostensibly on opposite sides of an eon long war enjoying one another’s company however the two of them had an Arrangement. An Arrangement that worked, even when one Mycroft Holmes decided to set up shop in London, although these days there was distinctly less wondering about the Ineffable Plan and a great deal more getting drunk after being quietly interrogated and/or terrorised by said Holmes during dinners at the Ritz.

Still even that was better than when the Almighty’s adopted little brother decided to _experiment_ in Aziraphale’s bookshop.

Soho was just never quite the same again afterwards.


End file.
